SEEKING BUOYANCY
A (belated) Mother's Day post
If you unsubscribe to Mother’s Day content to protect your own peace, please take care of yourself and skip today’s CHILI PADI post. ♡
When we last spoke, my parents were in town visiting (they flew home last Friday night). We haven’t lived in the same city since I was seventeen, and the physical distance between us has only grown. Being able to host them, in my own home, has been something I’ve looked forward to for a long time. And it was wonderful! But also, well, imagine your parents staying with you for a month. Suddenly it’s happy hour on a Monday while I try to dry out from the weekend. Begging them to turn the TV down so I can record a self-tape. Giving them headphones for whatever chaotic viral video is making the rounds on Whatsapp that they’re watching at full volume on their phones. It’s relearning boundaries and carving out personal time. It’s loving knowing they’re comfortable and cosy one room away, but also jumping at the opportunity to take an in-person meeting across town.
To keep from falling into old familial patterns, I try to introduce new & fun programming into their visits. An overnight in Ojai or Santa Barbara. A visit to Color Me Mine (very therapeutic!). An exciting new bar. My parents are still pretty elastic, so they’re generally game. They insist they come to relax but I’m a People Pleaser, so I feel the need to tap dance find activities that’ll make everyone happy.
I first heard about Quantum Clinic through my friend Alexandra, co-founder of Prismatics, a cutting-edge creative communications agency based here in Los Angeles. A native Angeleno with an Ali-McGraw-by-way-of-Malibu energy, Allie has turned me onto a lot of cool things over the years. Because she’s both a generous and supportive friend, she offered me a float session at the clinic if I wanted to write about it, and because I’m always seeking self-improvement, I agreed.
Founded by two doctors (Dr. Lehman and Dr. Ramos) who have backgrounds in Multicultural Community Psychology, trauma therapy and child psychology respectively, Quantum Clinic touts itself as a “spa for your DNA” with the intention of “healing through coherence.”
Quantum Clinic is built on the values of honesty, integrity and compassion for self and others. We understand the human process of healing and learning is not linear. This process is a deeply alchemical one, rooted in ancient practices and aided by modern technology. Our facility operates a person-centered approach to individual and community healing through coherence.
In 2020, our founders, Dr. Ramos and Dr. Lehman decided to double-down on building the infrastructure for your most profound transformation and self-healing. Bridging their combined expertise across mental health in complex emergencies, treating trauma, addiction, and stress, they created an experience unlike anything else in town.
Color me intrigued! With Mother’s Day approaching, Allie suggested that the couples float with my mum might be nice. I’ve lived in LA long enough that my parents are used to being dragged along on hikes, to Erewhon and acupuncture. They’re wellness-curious on their own, having incorporated ashwagandha, green powders and circumin supplements into their routines. Plus, entering a womb-like space with the woman who’d once physically housed me held a distinctly poetic appeal. I pitched it to my mum as a way to heal our aches and pains (I have chronic neck issues and she’s dealing with a strained rotator cuff - getting older, it’s fun!) Plus, it might bring us closer. An opportunity to heal both mentally and physically sounded kind of nice, didn’t it? And hey, if we rid ourselves of some of our generational trauma, that’d be swell too. She chewed on it, then agreed.
My mother and I alone in a tiny chamber. What could go wrong?
The clinic is located in Elysian Park, 14 miles from Venice, so I made us an appointment for a Saturday afternoon, thinking we’d avoid traffic. I was quickly humbled as we found ourselves inching along the 10. Traffic was relentless, not ideal for a day of relaxation. I’d also blown it by not filling up my tank before. To have the car flatline on our journey- I’d never hear the end of it.
“I have to admit something,” mum said. “I actually thought this would be a sensory deprivation chamber, that we’d be floating around in zero gravity.”
“Well, it’s not. Are you ok getting in the water?”
“Sure,” she said, not entirely convincingly.
“You don’t have to swim. I think the whole point is we float.”
We lapsed into silence. I felt a prick of irritation. I’d already explained it to her, did she even listen? Did she ever listen to me? We’d spent my teens at each other’s throats and even though we’ve since healed those wounds, an underlying buzz of friction remains. We’re similar in so many ways - highly emotional. Very sensitive. Stubborn (she’s also optimistic, loads of fun, generous, kind. Funny!) But sharing those more electric traits makes it hard for me to appreciate her good ones sometimes. There’s a history of scorched earth. So I focused on finding us gas while she distracted us with some gossip from back home (South Asian women are Olympic-level gossipers. The chai is always piping hot).
Gas station mercifully located, we pulled into the Quantum Clinic parking lot right on the dot at 3 pm. The space itself is gorgeous, airy and calm, an instant departure from our last hour. Upon entering, we were greeted by Jimmy, a man whose aura suggested he’d never experienced rush hour (I know this is intellectually not true but his energy was so serene, I prefer to think of him as permanently cocooned by the safety of the clinic). Jimmy took us around the space, showing us to our private room which looked like the set of a Kubrick film (complimentary). The bath emitted a magenta glow, the water heated to mimic the body’s natural temperature. Jimmy explained that it was loaded with Epsom salts and magnesium to create the floating effect (we’d have to wear ear plugs to prevent salt water from drying in our ear canals and he warned us against touching our faces as to not sting our eyes).
After the tour, we sat with another guest for a group meditation. Jimmy gave us a monitor to measure our breathing and heart rates. At the end, we’d assess our stats. Once the session was over, he went over the results with us, individually. My rating was a 1 out of 6, which I was told was “normal” but which I, as a performer and a child of immigrants, took as a f-a-i-l (I meditate everyday, I should’ve aced this!) My mother, of course, couldn’t resist looking (uninvited) at my stats.
“Hmmm.”
Then it was time to float.
We returned to our room and undressed. Mum put on a bathing suit, and because I don’t punish myself with pilates 3X a week for nothing (and also, maybe, as a fuck you for years of being told my skirts were too short and tops too low), I fully stripped down. We showered and a disembodied voice let us know it was time to begin.
I entered the water and sat down, before slowly sprawling out, letting the salts do their thing. Suddenly, I was floating. I adjusted my neck pillow and called for her to get in. She stepped in cautiously and mimicked what I’d done.
“All good?”
“Yup.”
For the first few minutes we kept bumping into each other, almost as if we were magnetized by one another. Jimmy had emphasized that we should try to let go, to forget “you have a body” (I don’t know if any woman has ever succeeded at that). Time, at first, passed slowly. We might’ve been tempted to talk but the earbuds prevented us from doing so. So I turned inward, back to the car ride. Somewhere along downtown LA, we had taken a detour into unresolved dreams. My mum admitted she regretted never getting her PhD. She’d gotten her master’s in Houston but we’d moved back to Malaysia right after and then there never was time. “You were little, there was a lot to do.” I bristled, selfishly taking it as an accusation lobbed against me, but also because something in her vulnerability in that moment made me recoil. I know, it’s awful, but I’m being honest. It was almost like I was afraid this feeling of failure was contagious. It made me think of that Bonnie Burstow quote that made the rounds after the Succession finale:
“Often father and daughter look down on mother (woman) together. They exchange meaningful glances when she misses a point. They agree that she is not bright as they are, cannot reason as they do. This collusion does not save the daughter from the mother’s fate.”
I have a hard time admitting when I’m not ok to my parents. Maybe it’s because, as an only child who came to them “later in life,” I relished acting like a miniature adult. Maybe it’s because when I did break down, I was often told I was “too sensitive.” Pursuing a career in the arts can take a toll on your sparkle, but admitting to any sort of defeat might mean the sunny California facade I’ve built is a total house of cards. At the same time, these feelings of getting older, of finite time have made me desperate to break down the walls between us. Before their arrival, I envisioned fireside chats about their childhoods, uncovering fears on long walks. And it was happening, right there in my car! But faced with the reality of it, I felt terrified and terribly, terribly human. I wanted to sprout an exoskeleton and burrow deeper into it. I wanted to be baby again. To return to the womb. So I focused on dissolving these feelings into the water, alongside the salts. Here, I told myself, you are buoyant, weightless.
Time seemed to melt away. At one point I opened my eyes to her feet by my shoulders and instead of being grossed out or feeling claustrophobic, I thought, wow her feet really are lovely. Another time I looked over and saw her seated upright, her neck pillow adorning her head like a crown. She looked like a painting.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was alone. At first I felt terror - where had she gone? Then, annoyance - I knew this would happen. Finally, I thought, - you willingly put 8000 miles between the two of you when you moved to California. She’s giving you your space, enjoy it.
I laid there, staring at the shadow of my body. My mother and I look nothing alike but neck down, we’re built the same. I’d lived inside that body, was the reason it had morphed, changed, become a vessel. When a mother is born, the maiden must die. I had taken something from her. She had prayed for a baby for a long time but what was the cost? It’s a feeling I grapple with myself, as everyone around me starts families of their own. What dreams would I have to sideline, or say goodbye to altogether?
Forget your body!!! I looked at the twinkling stars on the ceiling. They reminded me of wedding saris and the fairy lights that adorn the stores that sell them. When my mum was in her twenties, she had these two suits she loved - one that looked like a sunset, the other a dusky blue with shimmery embroidery that looked the night sky. I thought of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of my childhood bedroom. And then I thought about how, sometimes when I missed my parents, I looked up at the moon and the stars and reminded myself that it was the same moon and stars they were looking at, just on a different continent. That even if our viewpoints didn’t always align, we could see the same things.
Suddenly, the door opened. I looked up. I’d floated so I was exactly upside down, staring up at my mum’s face.
“Good?”
Again, it was tempting to have been annoyed. But I wasn’t. She was happy to see her child enjoying herself, looking like I was at peace. I bobbed my head. She shut the door and I floated around a little longer, trying to return to a semi-conscious state. But the seal was broken. It was time to leave the womb.
After showering, we were encouraged to relax in a shared lounge space, equipped with arts and crafts (collage supplies, paints, etc). I found my mum curled up on the giant turmeric velvet couch, sipping a cup of hibiscus tea. She looked refreshed and radiant. Then I noticed she had her phone in hand and wanted to ask why she wasn’t taking advantage of the crafts! When we were in Australia, visiting family last fall, she’d organized a painting session and it was one of the rare times I got to see her creativity at play. I was surprised at how good she was - her work full of feeling, her color choices bold and lush. She painted with the confidence of someone who knew she was good but was unburdened by the need to be good, a feeling that I seek constantly in my creative work. I wanted to see more of that side of her, but I wasn’t sure that my encouragement wouldn’t come off as critique. Why ruin a nice moment? So, instead of insisting she try her hand at collaging or asking her to join me in journaling, I sat next to her, comfortable in our silence.
We finished our tea, bid adieu to Jimmy and emerged out of the calm of Quantum Clinic back into the heat. In the car ride home, after we ooh-ed and ahh-ed about how soft our skin felt, I asked why she’d gotten out early.
“I have a fear of water. You know I’m not a strong swimmer.”
The water was a foot deep, max. We couldn’t have drowned in there if we tried. I bit my tongue. Then she added:
“I ended up chatting with the other lady. I told her my daughter brought me. She said she’s been trying to bring her mom but she won’t come.”
Was she comparing us to them? Was she asking for recognition for her willingness? Or was she just making small talk, no ulterior motive. I thought about how one day it might be me sitting in shotgun, my daughter taking me to something crazy and experimental, that’d put me out of my comfort zone (“Breaking Bonds Bungee Jumping”). Or maybe it’d still be me driving, insane as ever, dragging my child -someone level-headed and focused on serious things, while her mother played dress up for work and told stories on the Internet - somewhere they had no interest going. What would she think of me?
“Well, thank you for coming with me. And for being open.”
“Thank you for taking me. I had a really nice time.”
* * *
“My mum always used to say, ‘Indra, I never worry about you. I feel the same about you, you know.’”
We were drinking champagne in a Beverly Hills boutique on a quiet Friday morning, the final day of her visit. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard her say that. I wanted to say, well I kinda wish you would. My mum and nani had a notoriously tough relationship, but my mum had just finished telling me that after finishing high school, a guidance counselor had pulled her aside and encouraged her to go to college. Mum had balked - they didn’t have the money - but when she told my nani, she’d pulled out a wad of cash (she ran a hush hush money lending business, very badass this nani of mine) and said, “It’s yours. Go.” I never met her - she died long before I was born - but I imagine there's plenty my mum sees of her in herself - and of them, in our relationship - that she both loves and hates. You can try but you can’t escape your parents. Earlier that week, we’d been out to Mother’s Day lunch and at some point I excused myself to the restroom. While I was in a stall, I heard my mum come in. She didn’t make a sound, didn’t do or say anything that would have indicated it was her. But I knew. I recognized her foot steps, the jingle of her jewelry. That is how deeply embedded our family can be inside of us. She is so intrinsically a part of me, I’d know her anywhere.
Jimmy had mentioned that we might spend the week ahead processing our feelings, that it could be a slow and prolonged unfurling. I felt a lot but I’ll tell you - we didn’t fight as much. Maybe it was the float. Maybe it’s the therapy. Maybe it’s just that we’re both getting older, the bite seeping slowly out of us. Whatever it was, we both tried a little harder to be patient and kind that week. I didn’t snap when she asked where her cappuccino was, fifteen minutes after insisting she didn’t want a drink, and she didn’t tell me my hair looked better shorter, or that I should dye it darker. Small victories.
When the float came to an end, I was alone in the room. I felt lighter all over and very, very clean. As I combed my wet hair, the filtration system started, emptying out the bath and preparing the float for its next guest. I like thinking that some of our old and unnecessary pain, trauma and bullshit had washed down with it.
If you’re keen to give Quantum Clinic a try, you can book via their website here. I don’t receive any kickback nor do I have any affiliation with the clinic.
DELIGHTFUL THINGS: INDRA’S EDITION
For this edition of Delightful Things, I’m turning it over to my mum, Indra, who was kind enough to answer a few questions (although she initially thought this was homework from my therapist).
What’s something you look forward to when coming to LA?
Spending time together! And great Mexican and Japanese food.If someone was visiting Kuala Lumpur for the first time, what should their first meal be?
A nice banana leaf - I’d take them to Selangor Club to enjoy it on the terrace.A favorite childhood memory?
Playing hopscotch, catching grasshoppers and dragonflies. Really just being outside with my siblings and friends as long as we could be. We’d stay out until we were all called in for dinner.What’s a great starter film for someone unfamiliar with Bollywood movies?
SholayA song that always gets you moving?
Anything bhangra!What’s the best thing about being a mum?
My love language is acts of service. Nothing makes me happier than cooking a big meal and sitting down together to eat as a family.
CATTY CORNER X WHO IS SHE
I love cats. I love them big, I love them small - and I especially love them when they serve this much cvnt.
This is the opposite of a face only a mother could love. This is a face that stops you dead in your tracks (sorry to that deer). She ate, she devoured, she left just a cadaver. She’s channeling Nicole Kidman in To Die For, Diana Ross in Mahogany. She’d soooooo be the cool mom at (private school) drop-off, blasting Donna Summer and smoking cigs (fur ON) in her caramel Jaguar.
CATTY CORNER (FOR REALS THIS TIME)
I have a soft spot for movies that demand the suspension of your disbelief. One of my secret (well, not-so-secret now) favorite movies is View From The Top, in which a post-Oscar Gwyneth Paltrow plays the trailer park-raised Donna who dreams about escaping her humble beginnings to become….a flight attendant (what she wants: First Class. Paris. What she gets: short haul flights on a regional airline that makes Southwest look plush). I’m happy turning my brain off to watch something silly and feel good because the real world is a scary place (and no, I will not be verifying if any of the planes were Boeings). So, I was thrilled at the prospect of watching Princess of Genovia Anne Hathaway make out with a hot younger guy (while wondering if that is indeed her real hair or the most primo extensions). Yes, I was enjoying The Idea Of You when one particular line stopped me cold:
For context: this is when Solène (Hathaway), a divorced, nearly-40 year-old mom (and Silverlake art-gallery owner ofc) is about to take off on a solo (ok, moody) camping trip while her teenage daughter is off at Coachella with her dad (and Solène’s cheating ex). Solène is one of those women who’d rather risk getting eviscerated by a bear instead of having (and later, thankfully acquiescing to) a very lovely and mellow natty-wine filled celebration in the comfort of her own tasteful craftsman. But I digress. Solène’s about to pull away on her “adventure” when said ex whips around the block, teens in tow: he has a last minute Very Important Meeting (in Houston!) and could she take the kids instead. Hotel’s been paid for, passes secured, could she please do him this solid? She owes him nothing, of course, but we know she’ll say yes because that music festival is destined to be the backdrop for her inevitable meet-cute with boy band superstar Hayes Campbell (Nicholas Galitzine). I was excited! I was ready! But then Solène stomps OUT of her car, in her very practical (and might I add, on-trend) Salomon hiking boots. To grab. A pair. Of open-toe sandals.
There’s a time and place for open-toe sandals and Coachella isn’t one of them. Here we see Solène and her teens (in sensible footwear) trudging through a very busy beer garden. There’s already trash everywhere. I can taste the dust. Listen, I get that her whole vibe is that she’s a “fish-outta-water, first-timer-at-the-festival, was-too-busy-mothering-in-her-twenties-to-have-had-fun” kinda gal, but Solène spends the rest of the movie turning out lewks. This is a woman who knows her way around an SSENSE sale.
Even when carted around on a golf cart, you’re still walking a lot. I have a hard time believing that anyone who consulted on this film has ever stepped foot on the polo fields, to which I say, mama, let’s research! Anyway, thoughts and prayers for Ms. Solène’s pedicurist.
MIDWEEK BOP ALERT 🚨🚨
In the late 90s, Yash Chopra was pumping out hit after hit and would not, could not miss. Dil To Pagal Hai might’ve been my favorite of that era. We loved it so much, my cousin Shareen and I learned all the dances and strong-armed our families into being audiences for our DIY rehearsals. A classic love triangle (Challengers, but make it dance) starring the three biggest names at the time (Shah Rukh Khan, Madhuri Dixit and Karishma Kapoor), it had a banger parade soundtrack going for it, but kicking off the movie with Le Gayi? 😮💨 12/10, no notes.
As a thank you for being so low key (you hear lots of horror stories about wedding planning that throwing a party with your parents is like doing a group project together for the first time - harrowing and eye-opening), I surprised mine with a dhol player to kick off the dance floor. The look on my mum’s face made when she heard this song come on? That’s a memory for a lifetime. ❤️
It’s good to be back! I missed you! I’m signing off as I touch down in beautiful San Juan, ready to dip my toes in the Caribbean. If anyone is sitting on Puerto Rico recs, please comment below/email/text me <3 Happy MDW, hope everyone has a sizzling and sexy weekend!
i'll never get over your writing
🥲❤️ beautiful!